Their Last Night
by PurpleFire531
Summary: After WW2 Italy is desolate without Germany. He sneaks away to see him, not knowing what he will find. Part one of two. Gerita all the way. first fanfic, sorry about any mistakes. EDIT (12/9/12): Part 2 updated. Takes place the next morning (again sorry about any mistakes) Enjoy
1. Chapter 1

Part One

Italy (October (ish), 1945-7 (also ish))

It was a cold, cloudy day and he had on a thick jacket to block out the wind. He shivered as he looked around, worried that somebody had followed him. He had snuck away and he still wasn't quite sure how he had managed it.

He knew he wasn't supposed to be there. He was supposed to stay away and listen to what the Allies told him. They told him that he and Germany weren't in an alliance anymore. They told him he wasn't an Axis anymore, which made him sad beyond belief. He knew that there weren't really any Axis powers left, but in his head the alliance between him, Germany and Japan still existed, even if they had lost the war. Even if Germany, infallible, strong Germany had been forced to surrender. That still really blew his mind. He knew he gave up and surrendered all the time, it was normal for him.

For Germany though, it was not normal. It had only happened a few months ago, but for him it felt like only a day. It only felt like a week ago that he himself had surrendered and technically became an "Allied Force". He hadn't wanted to surrender, for once. He had known that Germany and Japan would go on fighting, and he had wanted to help. It was odd, because it was Germany who had finally convinced him.

"I can't let you be hurt; you need to get out of this war, while you can." Germany had said to him right before he gave himself up to the Allies. Even then, he had still thought there was hope for Germany and Japan to win, or at least not lose. He wasn't sure how that would work, but he just couldn't picture it in his head. Them losing, that is. Then, Germany too, had been forced to surrender. Then, lastly Japan and the war was over. He still couldn't really believe it. Since their surrenders he hadn't seen either of them. He missed Japan, of course, but really it was the separation from Germany that tore him apart.

That was why, despite knowing he would get in trouble for it, he was standing outside of Germany's house. He was shocked at the way it looked. For as long as he had known Germany, which was quite a long time, at least as he saw it, the house had been in perfect order, lawn mowed, windows clean, everything in perfect order. Today, however it was in a state of disrepair and neglect. He was almost scared to continue inside. Scratch that, he _was_ scared to go in. He had wanted to come, badly, and it had been bad enough that he found a way to get past the Allies to get here. But now that he was here, he wasn't sure.

It occurred to him that he really should have paid attention more. In the time since the war ended, he had been incredibly sad and had blocked nearly everything out. To the point that he didn't even know what the decisions for the end of the war were. He knew that he was going to have to pay lots of reparations, and he assumed it would be the same for the other Axis powers, but now, he wasn't so sure. He had come here for a reason, though and he would go in. He gathered what courage he had, which wasn't much, and walked up to the front door and knocked on it.

He waited a few moments and there was no answer. Now he was really scared. He tried again, but still there was no answer. He bit his lip and looked around, unsure of what to do. It hadn't really occurred to him that Germany might not be here. Then again, he had come all this way, and he had risked so much already, he had to make sure. He tried the door handle. To his surprise, it was open. He walked inside and peered around.

Inside, the house looked like it always had. Perfectly clean and organized, not a thing out of place, but it felt odd. Germany's house always had felt clean, but lived in and full of energy. Now, it felt like nobody lived here, it felt neglected, forgotten. All the lights were off and it was dark inside. He flicked on the light switch next to the front door and glanced around. Now, he was really sure Germany wasn't here, but he had come this far and he wanted to see the rest of the house to make sure. He went through every room, turning the light on, looking around and then moving to the next room.

In every room, there was nothing, except the same feeling of emptiness. Eventually, he had checked every room on the first floor. He still wasn't done though, even if he wanted to be. He stood at the top of the stairs to the basement, unsure if he should continue. He had only been in the basement a few times before and he was pretty sure Germany wouldn't be down there. It wasn't a nasty, old basement or anything, it was finished and nice, but it was just an extra living room and bedroom. Germany used it as extra space for his brother, Prussia to stay in when he came over.

Then he heard a noise, like somebody moving around, and he knew he was going to have to check down there too. Feeling very much like an intruder, he went down the steps. The lights were off down here too, and at the bottom of the stairs he turned on the living room lights. Even here, there was nobody; just the couches, a TV, and a pile of blankets on the biggest couch. He sighed and was about to go back up the stairs when he heard a small noise, like a painful exhalation of breath from behind him.

He quickly turned around and he heard it again. He was able to tell where it was coming from, this time though. It had come from the pile of blankets. He quietly went over to the pile and from a closer angle he could see very clearly what had made the noises. A very tousled blonde-haired head stuck out from under the blanket. He relaxed a bit, the head was Germany and he had finally found him. He didn't want to wake him up though, so he sat down next to the couch to wait. He looked at Germany and his nervousness returned. Germany looked terrible, he looked like he was sick, and he had a nasty bruise on his cheek.

Italy jumped when Germany made another painful, breathy, noise, this time harsher than before. Then, Germany's face scrunched up like it was in pain, or he was angry, or both.

He started talking in his sleep, saying, "Nein, nein, nein…" and then, "Ich bin traurig….traurig….nein". Germany was getting more and more agitated in his sleep. He started tossing around and the emotions on his face became more and more scared and painful. Italy realized he was having a nightmare. He knew that Germany had nightmares, a lot. He remembered when they first started spending their nights together, the nightmares were really bad then.

However, the longer they were together, the more nights, the less the nightmares happened, until they didn't happen at all anymore… or a least they hadn't. He felt bad about waking Germany up, but he knew that was the best thing to do, since he was clearly having a really bad nightmare. He slowly reached over and shook Germany's shoulder. After a few seconds, Germany's bright ice blue eyes fluttered open. Italy watched as his eyes darted around, clearly confused.

Italy waited for Germany to realize where he was and be awake. He was a very deep sleeper and often was confused when he woke up. After a second, Germany's eyes locked onto Italy. Without a moment's hesitation, he reached out and pulled Italy in towards him with a happy exhalation, and a relived whisper of "Italy.". He of course let himself be drawn in and hugged. This was exactly what he had come for, to be near his Germany again. Italy sighed too and drew himself closer.

Italy went in to burry his face in Germany's shoulder, but then, Germany stiffened. He pushed Italy off of him, but kept a hand on Italy's shoulder as he looked at him with concern on his face.

"What's wrong?" Italy asked, nervously.

"What on earth are you doing here?" Germany asked with wide eyes. "You shouldn't be here! How did you get here?"

"Well, I wanted to see you, so I came. I know I'm not supposed to be here, but I don't care. Besides, it wasn't like it was that hard to sneak away from the Allies, they didn't watch me very well, they just assume I won't leave." Italy answered. This time, Germany really did push Italy all the way away from him. He sat up and pushed away the blankets he had been sleeping under.

"Italy! Do you have any idea how much of a bad idea that was? Do you even comprehend how much trouble you could get into? I thought I told you to get out while you could! Not get out and then come back!" Germany shouted. He tried to stand up, but as he did a look of extreme pain washed over his face and he collapsed, his hand clutched over his heart. Italy was next to him in seconds.

"Are you alright? What's wrong? What's wrong!" He asked, panicked. He had never seen Germany like this. He was used to him being strong. "Nothing." Germany answered gruffly, turning away. "Please don't be mad at me. I just wanted to see you. I miss you." Italy said, pleadingly. Germany sighed and looked at him, and when he did his expression softened. Italy relaxed and went to go back into that hug, but Germany stopped him.

"Nein, don't make this any harder than it has to be. You can't stay here, you need to leave. Soon."

"But, I came all this way. I'm not just going to leave. I had to make sure you were okay, and clearly you aren't. What happened?" He was so confused. What had he missed during those months?

Germany coughed a little and then looked Italy right in the eye. "How could you possibly not know? Didn't you pay attention to anything that happened after we lost?"

"I…" Italy began, but then didn't know how to finish.

"No?" Germany asked, one more time. Then he sighed, looking impossibly sad and tired. "It doesn't matter. What is done is done, and you need to go."

"How many times do I need to say I don't want to leave?" Italy said, and forcibly went back to hug Germany. For a few seconds, Germany resisted, then he exhaled and brought Italy closer, running his hands through Italy's hair. Italy sighed and brought his hands down to rest on Germany's chest. He ran his fingers over the place where Germany's heart was and felt something odd. Germany winced as he touched it.

"What's that?" He said, leaning back and pulling down on Germany's shirt. An angry red, scar ran up and down across the skin above his heart. Almost bisecting it perfectly. Two other lines rand diagonally off the first one, both on the left side of the first line, making the left side look as if it were made into three pieces.

"How did you get this?" Italy asked. It had never been there before, and although it was a scar, it was recent. Countries healed fast. Germany sighed, sadness in his eyes.

"I said it doesn't matter. Besides, I deserve it."

"Just tell me what happened." Italy nearly begged.

Germany looked Italy right in the eye. He sighed again, a rough ragged sound. "The allies split me up. Two parts. One half, going to America, France and England. The other, to Russia. The land, and my capitol, Berlin." He explained, pointing to each section of the scar in turn. "They even built a damn wall to keep them separated. I can't believe they didn't tell you."

"I didn't want to know." Italy said, scooting closer to Germany who gave him and unreadable look. He was confused. "So, does that mean there are two Germanys?" Italy asked, feeling a little stupid, "Like there are two Italys?"

Germany didn't say anything for a minute. "No, and you have to swear you won't tell anybody this." Italy nodded. Germany waited a minute, as if he was unsure to continue. "Another one of the Allies decisions was to dissolve Prussia." He stopped, and for a minute Italy wasn't sure he would go on. Then it was almost as if a tiny fire was lit in Germany's eyes. A tiny fire of determination… and desperation. "I just couldn't let that happen! So we made a plan, instead of another personification being born, or whatever would have happened, I'm not really sure what would have been worked out, I gave him the Eastern half. So he could stay alive." He sighed.

"He insisted he take the half that would belong to Russia…. I hope he's okay. I haven't seen him since…" Germany trailed off, and Italy was shocked to see just the tinniest glimmer of tears in eyes.

"Won't the Allies be mad?" Italy asked, afraid for Germany. He knew that if Germany got in any more trouble, he might not come out of it. "Well, eventually, but it's already too late. Besides, I don't care. There isn't much more they could do." Germany said and then a look of pain washed over his face and he closed his eyes and leaned back against the couch.

_They could do more, _Italy thought, _they could kill you._ The fire that had lit Germany up only moments before had been extinguished. Germany's eyes slowly opened. He looked right at Italy and ice met amber. Italy drew closer to him and breathed a sigh across Germany's neck. Germany went and put his arms around Italy. They both knew it was going no farther than those few touches. Germany was too weak and for the first time ever, Italy was worried about hurting him. It was enough for both of them just to be together again.

They stayed like that for a while, but far too soon, Germany pulled away.

"You have to leave. They are going to hurt you if they find out." Italy let out a breath. He didn't want to leave. He didn't care what happened. All that mattered was here and now and that they were together. Nothing was going to change that.

"No. I am not leaving. I may give up on a lot of things. I may not be that strong, but I am not going anywhere. No force on earth is going to get me to leave. I won't give up on us." Italy had no idea where that came from. He usually didn't have that kind of determination. He usually just gave in.

For a minute Germany said nothing. He was speechless. They just looked into each other's eyes for a moment.

"You have to. It's not.. We…. Aren't worth it." Germany sighed, "It's not worth you getting hurt." Silence hung in the room like a physical thing. "I'm not worth it." Germany looked down, breaking their stare.

A memory rose to Italy, unbidden, and sad. He remembered the last time he lost somebody. He had just given up; let that person walk out of his life, not looking back. He regretted every day what had happened. He went over and over in his head the things he could have done differently. Maybe said something, done something, anything, but he hadn't; he had given up, surrendered and it had broken him deep inside.

Sometimes he wondered if that was the reason he gave up so easily now, because he had then. It just didn't seem to matter anymore. He swore to himself that if anything like that ever happened again, he would do it different, he wouldn't give up.

Now, it seemed as if history had repeated itself, not the same situation, but all the same consequences. What he did now he could either regret or he could look back and know he made the right decision. He could give up and leave, maybe forever, or he could do whatever it took. He looked at Germany, who was looking down, away, anywhere but meeting Italy's eyes.

"Yes, you are. You are worth everything to me and I am not leaving. No matter what." Germany looked up and him, and for the briefest second their eyes met, but then he dropped his gaze again. Germany let out a breath and with any determination he had left looked Italy in the eye and gave him a glare.

"Maybe, I am worth everything to you; but you aren't worth everything to me. Has it occurred to you that maybe I just don't want you here and want you to leave?" Germany's voice grew and he drew himself up, trying to look imposing, like he used to be. The words cut Italy through like a sharp knife. Germany drew a ragged breath and continued.

"Maybe, I was just trying to let you down easy. Actually, not maybe. I was. I want you gone. We may have had something, but it's over now. You need to go back to the Allies, and leave me in peace. I don't want you here." Germany's hurtful words hit Italy like bullets, each and every one of them. He started to cry tears cascading down his cheeks, unchecked. Then he noticed, Germany was shaking. It was subtle and Italy was staggered by how thin and weak Germany looked, even though he was trying to look strong.

Italy threw his arms around Germany and said. "You are faking! I can tell when you lie to me, even if it hurts me. You are trying to protect me but for once, let it go! Let me be here for you." Italy was still crying and as he hugged Germany he wasn't really one hundred percent sure he was right, but he had an instinct and had gone for it.

For a moment nothing happened. Then Germany deflated, falling into Italy, tired and weak. A small tear left the corner of his eye.

"You don't have to be strong right now. You don't have to worry about what is happing outside this room. Just let us have one night together and we'll figure it out in the morning." Italy looked at Germany and even though another tear trailed down Germany's face, he said,

"Okay."


	2. Chapter 2

Part Two

Germany

He hurt all over. It wasn't the first morning he had woken up feeling like this, nor would it be the last. The injuries he sustained, during, and especially after, the war were just so bad, and they weren't healing fast- like normal injuries sustained by countries. He supposed it was probably because the actual people of the nation weren't recovering either. That damn wall, it was the cause of it. He breathed in deeply and then back out, painfully. His chest hurt more than anything else, the aches, the pains, and the bruises would all fade in time, but he knew he would have that scar on his chest forever.

No matter how bad all of that was, no matter how awful the pain got, he never really felt sorry for his situation. He knew, deep down, that it wasn't really his fault, that he had no choice. Every country does what their boss tells them to do- every nation out there had caused horrible things, deaths, war- no one was exempt from it. That fact didn't stop the guilt, the horrible, gut wrenching guilt. He never really stopped thinking about it, but he wished he could. Bad, but very recent, memories flooded him through the day, and nightmares haunted him all through the night; every night, and sometimes he would remember them all day- reliving them over and over again.

He deserved everything he got. He would take the pain dealt to him and live with it. He didn't really care what happened to him. His people however, were an entirely different story. Them, and the two most important people in life, they had been who suffered most from his mistakes and that was what really ate at him. The worst of it was Italy and Prussia. Italy, who he had bogged down into this war with him and Prussia too, who was now not even really a country anymore. He didn't want to think about it, but he did, because he knew it was all his fault. He had no words to describe how bad he felt about everything- but the pain was a start.

He sighed, resolved to roll over and go back to sleep. He hadn't moved off the couch in the basement for days. He had come home after everything had been decided and collapsed. He still wasn't sure how long he had been there. Some of it he knew, he had been unconscious for. Most of it was sleeping though- he was really too weak to do much else. His life had become a seemingly unending circle of waking and sleeping, nightmares and the reliving of bad memories, and pain, always the pain. The only good thing in all of it, was that Italy, thank gott, had managed to get out of the war before it really got bad and therefore he had escaped the worst of the punishment and was safe, or at least as good as he could be.

It was how it needed to be. He should be the one to take the fault, the blame. Hell, even if it were the other way around and Italy had actually done something wrong, he would take that too. Anything to make sure the ones he loved came to no harm, ever. As he lay there thinking, he realized something. This morning, and he did know it was morning, since sunlight was leaking in though one of the high windows in the basement; this morning was different. He had woken up calmly. Usually, he woke up either in a dead panic or a cold sweat, coming out of the most vicious of a recent series of nightmares.

This morning, he had just woken up; in fact he couldn't remember any nightmares from the night before at all. He had the vague recollection of something, something pleasant though, instead of horrible. Something he had the strongest feeling had to do with Italy. He half shrugged, a fiery pain stabbed his chest, and he winced. He fully rolled over and noticed briefly that his pillow was really warm. He let it go and fully closed his eyes, hoping to get a few more hours of actually good sleep, for once.

Then, suddenly, he heard a sigh and felt the pillow below him…move. His eyes flew open and he sat up in an instant, a plethora of body parts responded with pain at the movement. He turned and looked over; and there, asleep on his couch, under where he had been sleeping, was Italy. He was so confused. What was Italy doing in his house?! Followed quickly by the confusion was panic. His heart raced painfully, and he ran his hand through his hair, nervously. There would be hell to pay for this he knew it. He couldn't comprehend the trouble this would bring down upon them. There wasn't much more they could do to hurt him, but Italy…Italy was a different matter altogether.

He looked over at Italy, thinking frantically what he should do. Sunlight from the window just barely illuminated Italy's sleeping face, so peaceful and happy. As he sat there, slowly the memories from the night before came to him. Italy showing up, and him agreeing to let Italy stay, despite everything. Now it was morning and there was no denying it. The Allies would be looking for Italy and here, at his house, would be the first place they would look, and when they found the two of them…well, he didn't want to think about it. Italy had to go.

He reached over and gently tapped Italy. Italy's bright amber eyes moved and then opened, meeting the icy stare of Germany's. They looked at each other for a fraction of a second. Italy smiled hugely, and to Germany it almost made it seem like the room got brighter. He hadn't realized how much it hurt to be apart. "Buon Giorno," Italy said and stretched. Germany gave him a small smile back, almost letting himself believe this was like any other morning that they had shared. He would get up and make breakfast- eggs and sausages- and they could do whatever they wanted. It could be like…like before.

Then like a bucket of cold water, reality crashed down and Germany frowned. Italy gave him a quizzical look.

"What's wrong?" Italy asked quietly.

"Do you really have to ask?" Germany responded with a sigh. Italy looked down at his hands, and frowned too. Then, Italy looked up, as if a thought had just occurred to him. "Please, please, don't tell me to leave you. I don't want to go back to them. I want to be here with you. I feel safe with you here, please, don't make me leave." He said, panic rising in is voice. Germany sighed, painfully, and was about to respond, when Italy interrupted him. "Just let me stay, I bet they won't even notice if I'm gone!" He said, hopefully.

Germany didn't want this, sending Italy away was the last thing he wanted to do, he wanted them to be together. He knew, however, he couldn't be selfish like that. Italy had to go back to the Allies because he would be safe from harm and away from the punishment he was suffering.

"Nein, you have to go back. Soon. I can't let you do this for me … I won't let you be dragged down with me." Germany had just barely finished speaking when Italy put his hands in Germany's and looked him in the eye, a very serious, but also very scared look on his face. "It's not for you! It's for me! I…I need you! You have no idea how hard it is for me to be away from you!" Italy was moving himself towards as full state of panic. "I can't sleep! I get scared and there isn't anybody to run to, nobody to turn to! Everything has gone wrong for me, I can't do anything right! I just…I just… I just can't be alone-without you- anymore. I won't do it."

Italy finished and stood up, pacing around the room. "I can't. I'm not strong like you are. I need you." He said quietly, coming to a stop and staring down at Germany. Germany looked back up and him and sighed. They were both silent and the tiniest sound could have been heard.

Germany felt another stab of pain travel through his chest, but he ignored it and looked at Italy. He was so conflicted and confused. He just didn't know what to do. Then, a small sound reached Germany's ears and he stiffened.

"What is it?" Italy whispered, not having heard the noise, but afraid to break the silence. Germany didn't answer. He did, however, recognize the sound. It was a car door. He kept listening as another set of sounds reached them; the sound of footsteps, then his front door opening and finally a voice.

"This place looks like shit. I really don't think that he's here." Germany's heart stopped. It was America's voice.

Germany moved entirely on instinct. He stood up, and despite the pain in his chest that threatened to make him collapse, he stayed standing. He pushed Italy behind him. It would only take a minute before they came down here. His mind racing, he went through his options; there were really only two: give up, or fight. He did not want to face either one. He knew he was in no condition to do much of anything, and at first he wanted to just give up, he would take no more pain, no more suffering, and besides, did he really want to put Italy through that? The hard separation that would inevitably follow him losing?

No, he didn't… he didn't want any of this. He just didn't know what to do about it. He wanted to protect Italy, but he knew he probably couldn't, he wanted to stay with Italy, but he knew that he didn't deserve to; the way the Allies would see it was that Italy being here was what Germany wanted, not something Italy had done himself. After all that had happened, could he even find the strength to do something? He just didn't know, and as the footsteps got closer, he was running out of time to decide.

Italy had recognized the voice too, and was scared. He hid behind Germany and a soft whimper he had been trying to hold back escaped. Germany turned around and looked at him. In an instant, it all became clear to Germany. The words Italy had said only moments before came back to him, _"It's not for you! It's for me! I need you…"_ Him fighting, it wasn't for him, or even for Italy, it was for them… together. If he went down protecting that… so be it. He was done giving up- honestly the amount he had done of that lately was more than enough. In this he would be firm, strong; a wave of pain threatened to take him down, he straightened; he would be… if he could.

Germany listened intently as they went from room to room; the difference would be made on how many of the Allies had actually shown up to find Italy. He knew America was one, and that, he hoped, would mean Russia wasn't there, since the two of them were at odds… to say the least. Thank Gott, he thought; that meant the biggest challenge would be America. He concentrated and was able to make out the rhythms of three sets of feet. He wished they would say something, but unfortunately, for the time being they remained oddly silent as they searched.

After what felt like an eternity but was only a minute or two, Germany heard the sound he had been dreading. The door to the basement opening.

"Well, I guess we should check down here, I'm not sure if Italy is even here, but hell, we haven't even been able find Germany."

"And we know he's here." Germany identified the voices in a heartbeat, Britain and then France. Now that he knew exactly who was in his house, unfortunately, it was too late. He painfully held his breath as they came down the stairs and into the room.

They all stopped at the bottom step and for a moment, everything was silent as they all looked at each other. None of the Allies looked particularly well off either. America and Britain only had minor injuries, but France looked worse off then either of them. No where near as bad as Germany, but definitely not good. That wasn't surprising; they had all just come out of a war. Nobody had been left unscathed.

Britain sighed and looked at Germany.

"I don't suppose we can just ask for Italy back and avoid violence, can we? I really am sick of all the fighting." He said hopefully.

"You can avoid fighting, if you'd just leave us alone. We get it, we lost, war's over. We're not going to start anything." Germany replied.

"Just give Italy back! You couldn't just leave him alone, could you? Look how hard this is for him! You two aren't in an alliance anymore and you need to accept that!" France interjected angrily.

"You think this was me? No, Italy came here of his own free will. Nothing in his surrender says he can't!" Germany was ready to get this over with, fight or no fight. He wasn't even sure he could stay standing much longer, much less fight three of the Allies. He hated this, feeling weak. He hated that he wasn't going to be able to protect Italy. He frowned. He was going to try, nonetheless.

"We aren't going to be able to resolve this shit civilly are we?" asked America, as he stepped forward. Germany tensed, "Looks like not." he replied.

In a flash, America was across the room and swinging at him, he ducked and pulled back, hoping to catch America off balance, but no such luck, America dodged and Germany moved back a step, Italy still behind him. Italy whimpered again and tried to move away from the fight, but his path was blocked by France. America and Germany kept fighting, unaware, both landing hits and taking hits, but neither giving ground or going down.

"Don't make this harder than it has to be. Just come with us, it's not so bad is it?" France pleaded with Italy.

"No. I'm staying here. With Germany. I don't care what it's like with you guys, I want to be here. Just let me stay, please, France, nothing bad will happen." Italy looked down and back up, pleadingly. "Please don't take me away." France bit his lip unhappily. He hated doing this; Italy was like a little brother to him. No matter how much he hated Germany, he didn't want Italy to be unhappy.

"We have to do what needs to be done." France turned around at the sound of Britain's voice. Britain's face was hard and set he came up to Italy and took him by the arm. "Italy, it's time to go." France nodded and grabbed Italy's other arm, and they began dragging Italy towards the stairs.

Italy fought with all he had. He was not leaving! He squirmed and wriggled and kicked out, but it was no use. They had him and they were not going to let go. Italy started to panic. He couldn't stand to be separated from Germany like this. Hot, angry tears began streaming down his face as they neared the stairs.

"Germany! Germany! GERMANY!" He screamed, distressed.

Germany turned, Italy's cries distracting him from the fight, and in that split second, America caught him off guard and landed a solid punch to his jaw. He dropped like a rock. "NO!" Italy screamed, fighting even harder.

"If I were you, and I knew what was good for me, I would just stay down. You fucking bastard." America leaned down and said to Germany maliciously. He turned to leave, and then turned back and finally, almost as and afterthought he viciously kicked Germany in the stomach before turning towards the stairs.

A new wave of agony left Germany writing in pain on the ground. He knew his jaw was bleeding and his stomach felt like he had been run over by a truck. He just wasn't able to cope with the blows that had landed on him in his extremely weakened state, not to mention the scar on his chest had flared in pain from the moment the fight had started and he was only just now starting to feel the full effects of that. The scar was an angry red on the side that was divided and hurt more than it had since the wound had been inflicted.

"Germany! Help! Don't let them take me!" Italy's cries from upstairs reached Germany's ears. He barely heard them through the pain. With America's help, it had been easy for the Allies to get Italy up the stairs and towards the door. "GERMANY!" Italy's last desperate cry finally bit through the daze of Germany's pain and Germany sat straight up, almost not even feeling the pain.

He would not let them take Italy. That was all he could think of. Anything else, the pain would be in and that would be the end of it. He stood, shaking and went towards the stairs with surprising speed. He would need to be fast to catch them. He rushed up the stairs, ignoring the agony that flooded him with each step. He came to the top only to see them out in the driveway. Italy was still struggling, refusing to give up, even as they tried to force him into the car. He had stopped screaming for help, but tears still rolled down his face as he fought. It was a short struggle and soon Italy and the rest of them were in the car.

Germany rushed to the door, and wrenched it open. He was about to go out towards the driveway when it revved and started moving towards the street. Italy had stopped fighting and instead had his head down, crying, and now tears of sadness, rather than anger streamed down his face. He looked up and caught sight of Germany at the door as the car pulled into the road. His eyes opened wide and he frantically rolled the window down. "GERMANY!" He screamed, as if there was something Germany could do to stop the car and save him.

It was too late though, and the car pulled away, leaving that scream hanging in the air. Germany held tight to the door frame, he wasn't sure how he was even standing at this point. "ITALY!" He shouted, but by then the car was gone. He breathed heavily and the full weight of the world seemed to settle on his shoulders. A sharp pain flared in his chest and he collapsed, right there in the doorway.

Italy's last screamed still echoed in his head… "_GERMANY!"_

"Italy…" he whispered and everything went black.


End file.
